Help me to a seat." The beautiful rescued one limped, and Richard turned white.
"Your ankle!" he exclaimed.
"No; my heel," she retorted with a little flutter of a laugh.

"My French heel caught on the stair; it was torn away.

No wonder I limp!" Then came the girl's mother and called her "Dorothy." Richard, who was not without presence of mind, climbed six steps and secretly made prize of the baby boot-heel.

Perhaps you will think he did this on the argument by which an Indian takes a scalp.

Whatever the argument, he placed the sweet trophy over that heart which held the picture of the girl; once there, the boot-heel showed bulgingly foolish through his coat.
Richard returned to the mother and daughter; the latter had regained her poise.